“Enough to get by.”
He said it with low-key assurance, as if Zach Corbett, a member of the richest and most influential family in Tobias and—more to the point—the son of Lana Corbett, would naturally know how to use blue-collar machinery. The town had nearly imploded from the tut-tutting when he’d gotten a motorcycle. At least that was certified bad-boy-toy material—but a front-end loader?
When she didn’t speak, he asked, “What’s the deal with Bliss House’s gardens being renovated? Miss Trudi…?”
“Miss Trudi’s fine. But the situation with Bliss House is another long story. It’ll be easier to show you and then fill in the gaps. I’ll take you up to your room and we can go over to Bliss House after you’ve settled in.”
He didn’t move.
She held up her right hand. “I swear, I will extract every penny’s worth of room and board from you by working you to the bone.”
One side of his mouth twitched and mischief sparkled in those famed blue eyes.
“Not for board, you won’t. I’ll buy my own share of groceries. And do my share of the cooking.”
She raised her hands, then let them fall against her sides in surrender.
“Great. Perfect. However you want it. Can we please go upstairs now?”
Grinning, he said, “No. I’ve gotta go get the car and my things. I’ll be right back.”
Still standing on the stairs, she watched him through the three windows at the top of the front door as he followed the walkway to the sidewalk. No, he definitely didn’t swagger anymore. Yet that walk couldn’t have belonged to anyone else in the world.
He’d left his car somewhere and walked up the hill to Corbett House. Why? Why not drive up to it? Had he considered walking past without going in, without being seen? But surely that would be easier to do driving a car?
She shook her head. Foolishness. She could stand here until next week guessing at reasons, and what difference would it make? None. He was here, and she should deal with what needed to be done.
Upstairs, she put out fresh towels and necessities. She kept clean sheets on the beds—never knew when someone might need a place to stay.
“Fran?” Zach called from the top of the stairs.
She stuck her head out of the guest room at the far end of the hall, the opposite end from Corbett House. He stood in a pool of light from the hall window, so bright that for an instant he seemed to shimmer, like a ghost of his past self.
“Down here,” she said. He started toward her.
“Is your room down the other end still? Looking out at Corbett House?” He carried one bag, similar to a gym bag, with an unfamiliar insignia on it. That was all he’d brought?
“Yes.”
“Are you putting me at this end because you want privacy or to spare my feelings from having to look out on the old homestead where I’m no longer welcomed?”
Something else that hadn’t changed. Zach never used social amnesia to smooth over uncomfortable facts, such as his being turned away at Corbett House.
“Both.”
She stepped back to let him precede her into the room.
“The bathroom’s there.” She pointed unnecessarily through the open door on the south wall. “The bathroom also opens to another guest room, but with that one empty, you’ll have all the privacy you could want.”
Having pointed out towels, toiletries and extra blankets, she said she’d be downstairs when he was ready, and retreated.
She did not want to watch him pull out the few belongings that could reside in that small bag.
She poured herself a glass of lemonade and went to sit on the porch.
Nell needed time and exposure to Zach so she could know him as a real person, not the mythical outlaw-cum-hero uncle of her imagination and not whatever form he’d taken in her fertile mind since she’d been told that Zach, not Steve, was her biological father.
In the end, doing what was best for Nell had to be best for Steve and Annette, too. Working things out now, no matter how painful, had to be better for their little family than pretending the past had never happened. They knew that, too; that was why they’d told Nell the truth.
Fran had thought them wise and brave when they’d told Nell the truth. She trusted in their wisdom and bravery to reach a good resolution now. But they needed time. Time to get over the shock, time to find their way.
To give everyone that time, Zach had to stay.
That’s why she’d offered the room.
Not from any heartbreak over a prodigal being unwelcome in his home.
This house hadn’t changed much, either.
It was the kind of house where clean curtains fluttered in summer breezes and there was always lemonade in the fridge or hot chocolate on the stove. He’d had his share of both here.
Not that he’d be around this time to hit hot-chocolate weather.
No matter what Fran said about not being able to resolve things in the snap of his fingers, he knew how fast information could be gathered, how quickly a situation could be assessed and a decision made. If it had to be.
From the bottom of the stairs he followed the center hall to the large open room across the back of the house. Vicki Dalton had been ahead of her time when she’d had doorways widened to generous arches and replaced a wall with a pass-through. The result was that instead of a small, closed-up kitchen, breakfast area and family room, there was a free-flowing space where the Daltons had done most of their living…and dying.
Vicki’s days had ended on a hospital bed in the family-room area, set up so she could look out through the porch to the trees and gardens she’d loved. Had Dennis Dalton done the same with his daughter at his side?
That was pure Fran, right down to her toes. Zach bet she’d made a good nurse, too. Calm, unflappable, but with plenty of spark behind the no-nonsense.
But why did Fran remain in this house where she felt she was rattling around? Why hadn’t she moved on after her father died? Gotten on with her own life? And for God’s sake, junked those clothes that Miss Trudi would have considered old-fashioned when she was a girl.
Fran must have heard him come downstairs because she walked in from the porch, carrying an empty glass. She gave it a little lift, offering him one. He shook his head.
The screen door swung fast behind her. To keep it from slamming she gave a stutter step to catch the screen with her backside, then stepped forward, letting the door close softly. She did it automatically, with the unselfconsciousness of an ingrained habit.
Her movement reminded him of the sight of that backside with the tan jeans snugged over it as she crouched in the flower bed. And he had an automatic response, too.
God, what an asshole. Returning to Tobias for the first time in years, letting his family know he wasn’t dead, and discovering he had a daughter—that wasn’t enough for him? No, he had to lust after the kindhearted neighbor girl.
Woman, his libido amended.
He pivoted and latched on to the first thing in sight.
“What the hell is all this? It looks like… That’s Bliss House.”
He walked to the table where the Dalton family had eaten most of their meals, now covered with stacks of books and folders, forming occasional mountains above a plain of photos and papers.
Photos displayed the old mansion as he remembered it from growing up. But others appeared to date from shortly after it had been built in the late 1800s. While Corbett House was the picture of decorum, Bliss House displayed an exuberant eccentricity, just like the branch of the Corbett family that had built it. Zach slid one photo aside and came across another of the same area. A recent shot, with construction scaffolding and bushes wrapped in protective netting.
“These are some of my materials on the gardens.”
“Some?” He circled the table, picking up a folder, a list, a book, putting each back in place. “Must be one hell of a job to need all this.”
“It is.”
“Who took these?” He tap
ped a trio of photos, blown up and mounted on poster board, that were lined up on the buffet against the wall, along with a copy of an old-fashioned garden plan. He squinted at a view looking down on tangled, wild grounds beyond a cleared circle around the house.
“I did. Shortly after I agreed to oversee the work on the gardens.”
Judging from the angle and his memory of Bliss House… “From the roof?”
“Yes.”
“Damn it, Fran, that roof wasn’t safe a decade ago. I can’t imagine it’s any better now. That—”
“The scaffolding that Max Trevetti’s construction crew was using was already set up, so I had that.”
Max Trevetti? Annette’s older brother? Zach remembered him—a man when Zach was still a boy. Max was several years older than Annette, who was Zach’s age. Since when was Fran friendly with Max?
He shook his head. “Construction scaffolding’s dangerous, Fran.”
She gave him a look that clearly said, who was he to talk about danger to her? And she was right. The Zach she’d known would have done cartwheels on that roof if he’d thought of it.
He let it drop.
“Why did you want the pictures so bad?”
“To spot ghost marks from the original garden. Indentations that show where a path was or built-up areas of old beds. Things like that.”
She had books on plants, landscape design and Wisconsin horticulture. Catalogs from heritage flower, vegetable, herb, shrub and tree growers, stacks of what appeared to be research, an open binder with receipts, another with a diagram that sported snakes of sticky-notes.
“Looks like you could track down any garden ghosts in a three-state area with all this.”
“I’ve let it spread as we get into the late stages,” she said. “I’m heading over to the gardens soon. I need to check some plants that I couldn’t get to earlier because Max’s men were in that area. So I came home to tackle the bed out front when… Well, you don’t care about all that. I’m going back to Bliss House, and if you’d like to come, I can give you an overview before you start work tomorrow.”
“I’m not committing to anything until I’ve talked to Steve.”
“You can safely plan on working tomorrow, Zach. You’re going to be here for a few days anyway. You can’t go marching over to their house, not with Nell all ears. And Steve and Annette need to talk with Nell and to each other before they talk to you. You’re going to have to be patient. And flexible.”
She’d said the words patient and flexible with an emphasis that made it seem as though they had special meaning.
“Plus, life goes on,” she added. “There’s Nell’s school schedule and Steve’s job and their work with Bliss House—we’re gearing up for the opening in three weeks. You can’t walk back in after eight and a half years and expect everyone to drop their lives to sort this out.”
At least not tonight. Absently, he picked a book up off the sideboard. “Okay, I’ll go with you.”
“That’s not…”
She let the words die without telling him what the book wasn’t. He’d already seen what it was.
Childish but firm handwriting on the front flyleaf declared it the property of Nell Corbett, Third Grade, Mrs. Peaslen’s Class.
Holding this book, seeing the handwriting there made it all real.
Lily had been pregnant with his baby when he’d left Tobias.
Somehow Steve had come to raise that baby.
Lily had died. About six years ago, Steve had said. But Steve had also said he was listed as the father on the birth certificate. How did that happen? A baby, now a girl, who stared at him with blue eyes that looked as if they could cut through reinforced concrete.
His daughter.
God almighty, his daughter.
“Let’s go, Zach. The days are already getting shorter and—”
“Sit down. I have questions first.”
She remained standing. “You’re going to have to get the answers from your family, Zach. I offered you a place to stay because you all need to deal with this, but I am not going to get in the middle of it. You have to talk to each other. I’m going to Bliss House now.”
She walked to the porch door, holding it open.
He put the book down and followed.
Muted but high-pitched sounds made him peer into a shadowed area of the porch. Inside a low, carpeted box, a large, fluffy dog lay on her side with small, squirming forms clambering around her.
“This is Chester,” Fran said.
“Chester? You named a female dog Chester?”
“I didn’t. Kay did.”
“Kay?”
“Rob’s fiancé. She’s with Rob in Chicago and his building doesn’t allow dogs.”
“What’s going on with Rob in Chicago?”
She huffed out a breath. “Zach, we’ll be here forever if you expect me to catch you up on everything that’s happened since you left. Eight and a half years is a long time.”
“What if my questions are about you?”
That wasn’t fair, because the questions he really wanted to ask were about his daughter. He wanted Fran to describe every detail of Nell Corbett’s life—yesterday, then the day before, and the day before that, and every day before that, right back to her birth. And before her birth. To try to figure this whole thing out.
God. He had a daughter.
“Then you must be looking for boring answers,” Fran said.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Fran.” He realized his survey of her curves had become a little too appreciative when her cheeks pinkened. She wasn’t flustered—he couldn’t remember ever seeing Fran flustered—but she was pink nonetheless. The most matter-of-fact blusher he’d ever seen.
So maybe he hadn’t lied. Maybe he had questions about Fran after all.
She snorted a laugh. “If you’re reduced to practicing your wiles on me, Zach, you’re in a hard way. I’m going. Make up your mind if you’re coming with or staying here.”
He didn’t catch up with her until she’d reached her car, parked in the two-car driveway behind the house. She might have wondered if he’d debated staying. But his slow start had a different cause.
If you’re reduced to practicing your wiles on me, Zach, you’re in a hard way.
He got in the passenger side. The car had been closed up, holding the sun’s heat. But this was late September in Wisconsin, so the heat wasn’t stifling. Still, it held a closeness that intensified an aroma mixed of sweet earthiness and fresh lemons.
Fran. He had the strongest urge to stretch across the seat and bury his face in her hair.
He jabbed the button to open his window.
“That’s Steve and Annette’s house.”
She’d backed the car out of the drive and pointed across Kelly Street. Kelly divided the backyards of the five large houses facing Lakeview on one side from modest suburban houses nestled among big trees on the other.
“Steve bought the house when he and Nell came back to Tobias, when he was hired as town manager.”
Zach leaned forward, looking out the windshield at the neat Cape Cod with a girl’s bicycle at the side of the driveway. He continued looking, tracking through the driver’s open window and the backseat window as Fran drove slowly down the street.
Steve was living here? Practically in Corbett House’s backyard? Why? He could have gotten away and he hadn’t—
Or maybe his brother couldn’t have gotten away because Steve had been raising Zach’s child. Maybe he’d needed help raising a baby. Though God knew Lana wouldn’t have been much help.
“How the hell did this happen?”
A faint, wry smile touched Fran’s lips. “You would know that better than I would, Zach.”
He liked that she didn’t pretend not to know what he’d meant, but impatience still came through when he said, “Steve having the girl, I mean.”
“That’s something you should discuss with Steve. He’s the only one who knows the whole story.”
&nbs
p; “But you know some of it.”
“Yes, I know some of it.”
“And you’re not telling me.”
She didn’t try to dodge the accusation, she didn’t even squirm. She stopped at a stop sign, looked him straight in the eye and said, “No, I’m not telling you. This is one thing you need to deal with yourself.”
With the possibility of getting his answers from her removed, his single-minded focus widened enough that he belatedly could see the humor in her comment about his being in a better position to know—how Lily had become pregnant, anyway—than her. He could also feel the bite in her last comment. This is one thing you need to deal with yourself.
That was Fran, all right—cut to the chase and cut to the bone.
“Ah, yes,” he said. “Zach Corbett, famed throughout Tobias for not dealing with things himself.”
She shrugged and eased the car forward. “You tended to get into things and then not finish them. And—”
“Are you still holding a grudge for that lemonade stand when we were six?”
“I was six. You were seven. And I lost a month’s allowance buying all the supplies for the ‘best lemonade stand ever,’ if I remember your quote. Then when we sold only two cups—both to my mother—you took off.”
“Led astray by an older man, huh? Bet that never happened to you again. You should thank me.”
“No, that never happened again.”
Something in her words made him study her profile. It was as calm and smooth as the words. But it was distant, contained—definitely not open to the public.
Fran had always been quiet. As a careless boy he’d thought her timid. As a teenager he hadn’t thought about her much at all, because she had definitely not been a prospective conquest.
Now…now, he wondered. That’s all. Wondered.
Zach whistled an amazed acknowledgement as she drove past the gleaming wrought-iron gate flanked by power-washed and repainted brick walls at the front entrance to the grounds of Bliss House. The gate gave tantalizing glimpses of the house’s white facade.
Baby Blues and Wedding Bells Page 3
